People are our best friends and so are Pineapples
by twinrose84
Summary: Slice of life, one-shot stories of Psych I wrote originally in 2008 - under the penname of Mari - as a part of a challenge. I decided I wanted to try to resume and complete that challenge. Some might recognize the previously posted stories.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Big Hair, Big Heart and a Small Holiday**

_Note: the characters of Psych are not my creation and credited respectively to the series' creators and copyright staff. Yet, the story/plot presented is my own creation._

Juliet was having a bad hair day...a very bad hair day.

It had been one thing when she overslept that morning, but while she was able to arrive at the SBPD on time, the only thing that was otherwise off from a normal day was that her hair had not cooperated with her. Shampoo and Conditioner? Check. Hairdryer? Check. Comb and Brush? Check. Somehow, whether it was something her nephews did when coming to visit over their break or just a random mishap in general, her conditioner had smelled funny, and when she had dried her hair...it came out in one big poofy mess. She tried to pin it up in a bun to minimize the tangled mess, but the pins could barely hold in the rigid strands.

"Ugh, this is so not fair, Detective Lassiter will really be angry if I don't get to the office in time. But I can't just walk out the door looking like this!"

She had dug fervently that morning through her closet to find something to cover it, and came across an old hat that used to belong to her grandfather, a 30s era styled hat. Old, but stylish enough to match her new police uniform. Did the SBPD have a policy against hats? She didn't remember, but she didn't think twice about it when she saw the clock on the wall and grabbed her cup of coffee before heading out the door.

The first thing that Lassiter saw was the hat. Not even a hello, or a brief assertion of what she should do for that day, Juliet noted, only the sharp look of his glowing eyes and familiar scowl oriented toward the top of her head.

"O'Hara, may I remind you that it's not even remotely professional to wear hats inside of the office? You look like a criminal wearing that."

Juliet cringed and gingerly pulled on the sides of the hat. "I...don't think I want to take this off anytime soon. Can I just wear it for today?"

"What, Lassie, you didn't know? It's International Hat Day. And might I say the lovely Juliet is celebrating it proudly. Gangster style."

Juliet turned to the interrupting voice behind her to see Shawn Spencer and Burton Guster strolling in at approximately 8:30 AM. Shawn wore a blue cap with a picture of a pineapple on the front, and the phrase "Pineapples are fun" in cursive embroidered under the image. "I had this one made myself. I had Gus's made custom too." Gus gave Shawn a crude glance and nudge in the ribs. Juliet almost felt sorry for him because he was wearing a red and white beanie with a matching sweater and blue jeans. Juliet noted it made him look like a race jockey crossed with a kid in Willy Wonka's candy factory.

"Shawn, I don't know how you convinced me to wear something as ridiculous as this today, Hat day isn't even international, it's national. By the way, did you use the money I gave you to buy supplies for the Psych office on this? What did I tell you about prioritizing our work, Shawn?"

"It was a necessary supply, Gus. It's Hat Day...Hat Day! Do you know how many times a year that comes around? Once. Like Christmas or Easter. We need to celebrate it in style."

"Shawn, this is not style. This is torture." Gus pointed to the top of the beanie. "I have to go to the office today and I don't have time to change after our meeting with the chief this morning. What are the people in my office going to think? I have two clients I have to deliver to. I'll be a laughing stock."

"Well, at least you'll have the dignity to say that you remembered the holiday and are sporting it proudly. Tell them it's your religion."

"I can't think of any religion that includes beanie hats and striped sweaters, Shawn."

"At least it's not as bad as the pullover sweaters you used to wear."

Juliet stifled a giggle as she saw the two friends arguing. But Lassiter seemed to go without a hitch.

"Well, it's not like I care what you two do since you're civilians, but in the SBPD, we carry a level of professionalism, unlike the two children I'm looking at right now. And O'Hara has a responsibility to look professional as a cop, so NO hats."

Lassiter took the edge of Juliet's hat and lifted it off couldn't hide her shock as he did, and hair spilled over her face in a tangled mass. Shawn raised his eyebrows in amusement, and Gus's frown turned into a look of concern. She didn't even want to turn around to see what Lassiter's face looked like. From the look on Shawn's face as he glanced at Lassiter, it must have been funny, because he uttered a deep chuckle from his throat.

"Well, Jules, I think that you could be in the company of some famous big hair: Slash, Gene Simmons, Steve Tyler, Bon Jovi..."

Gus nudged him again. "Shawn! That's not helping."

Juliet wanted to cry, but she bit on her bottom lip to keep the tears from coming and turned around to face Lassiter, to try to get her hat back with as professional of a face that she could muster. Not that it would be possible with a tangled mass of hair adorning her head and falling over into her face.

To her surprise, Lassiter had the hat held out in his hands, and looked embarrassingly from side to side. Was he...blushing?

"On second thought, keep the hat on, just don't tell the Chief."

"See, Lassie has a soft side too, Jules. It might seem like he has a small heart, but he has a big one just as big as your hair right now. Don't worry, we'll keep your love for 80s hair bands and role-playing secret." Juliet shot Shawn a glance and rolled her eyes. She thanked Lassiter and tried her best to fit the hat back over her hair. When she had covered it, as if by chance, Chief Vick walked by where all four of them were narrowed her eyebrows. "Why aren't you all assembled in my office? And what's with the hats?"

All four of them answered quickly. "Hat Day."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Slow and Steady is not Shawn's Pace**

_Note: the characters of Psych are not my creation and credited respectively to the series' creators and copyright staff. Yet, the story/plot presented is my own creation._

It was a Thursday evening at the Psych office as Gus sat on the office couch, propping his feet on the table before him, laptop resting comfortably on his lap. Twilight settled on the horizon and Santa Barbara settled yet again into a mildly warm evening. The only sounds echoing through the room were the keystrokes he pressed in the game that Shawn had always harped on him about playing. Like he's one to talk, Gus thought, he's always playing games during company time.

Gus would have been home at his apartment, only he was waiting for Shawn to show up at the office to meet him, something about being an "urgent case". He glanced at the clock after completing a level. 6:45 PM. Gus had tried calling Shawn's phone, but no luck there-the chipper voice on the other end was none other than a voice mail saying that Shawn was "channeling the spirits" and couldn't come to the phone. He figured Shawn may have turned off his phone, but Shawn never turned it off or put it on vibrate...typically. Usually, that habit always came at the wrong times. If it were anyone else but Shawn, Gus would have been worried.

_Maybe he dropped or lost it again. Either way, he's late, and he knows I don't like anything that's not punctual. That's all right; when he comes in, he'll get something from me; I'm not tolerating this kind of wait time._ It took a reflection from a nearby mirror paperweight for him to realize how tight his eyebrows narrowed and his jaw line taut with frustration at the thought of his best friend. It transformed almost immediately, into a look of worry.

_I'd better stop this,_ he thought. _I'll have wrinkles in another few years if I keep this up._

He focused his attention back on the game and the keys he entered. _ Left, Left, Right...Left, Right, Left, Up...Up, Down, Spacebar...Space..._

The door slammed open with such a loud bang that Gus immediately turned his head back towards the sound, ready to thrust his computer aside and leap over the back of the sofa if necessary. He didn't have to turn back to the computer screen to know he lost the game, as he could hear the "game over" theme playing. So much for beating his high score.

"Gus! Gus! Oh, good you're here. I've got big news." Shawn came through the door, wearing a pair of jeans and a cereal shirt with the logo Lucky Champs. It had a picture of a leprechaun holding a bowl of cereal in one hand, and a few four-leaf clovers in the other. Shawn seemed to have had his hair cut for the first time in a little while...and that explained everything.

"Of course, Shawn. I've been here since 10 minutes before 6:00, hoping to be early for a meeting that we were supposed to have. So what do you do? You..." Gus set his laptop aside, rising from the couch and pointing an accusing finger at Shawn. "decide to go to the barber and get your hair cut. Before you say anything else, I know you just came from the barber. The Super-Smeller does not lie." Gus even took the opportunity to drive the point home by emphasizing his sniffing abilities, inhaling and exhaling sharply three times.

Shawn's eager face fell with a wounded look and he held up his hands in a mock surrender. "Gus...I was going to tell you..."

"Tell me what? You obviously couldn't return any of my calls since you either turned off your phone or lost it again."

"I didn't lose my phone. I left it at my dad's. He probably turned it off, because he knows I never do, and it really annoys him. Of course, that would depend on how many times you called." Shawn raised his eyebrows, and noting the inflection in his voice, Gus could tell it was suggesting an answer to an unspoken challenge. He had been around Shawn too many years to let it sway him.

"I called 10 times, Shawn. You could have called from the barber shop too, you know?"

"...That's pitiful." Shawn mentioned, addressing the low number with a blazing intensity. "You know my record's 92...where's the love? Come on, where's your fighting spirit? Miyagi-sensei would be disappointed in you. "

"Don't talk _Karate Kid_ with me, Shawn."

"And you know the manager won't let me make or take calls from there, not after the time we made all those prank calls to his customers when we were nine; you know he doesn't let stuff go. I'm surprised he still hasn't told Dad about it after all these years..." Shawn folded his arms across his chest, shifting his eyes around the room, as if in deep thought about the reason why the barber owner still hadn't ratted him out.

"If there's anything I don't want to beat you at, it's the number of times I call you, and for the record, those prank calls were all you. That's not the point." Gus felt his nerves calm a little, because he knew he couldn't argue with his best friend. It was getting late enough. Noting the setting sun outside, he turned on a few lights inside the office and drew the blinds by the windows. Shawn noted the defeated look crossing Gus's face and spoke as he plopped down on the couch beside Gus's laptop.

"Gus, don't be a sour apple dipped in whipped cream and cherries...though that would actually be pretty good; if you want an apology, fine. I'm sorry. But while the rabbit never outran the turtle, he certainly didn't do the crime. I just got us in on a big case."

Gus's brow wrinkled, put off by the oddball, and quite incorrect reference, as he took a seat beside Shawn, placing the laptop on his lap and closing off the game window. "First off, in Aesop's fable, it wasn't a rabbit, it was a hare, Shawn. A hare. Second, how does that have to do with a case? Not that I'm interested, but since you're here, fine. You have 2 minutes to convince me this is a case worth taking. Otherwise, I'm going home."

"I can do you one better, buddy. 1 minute...no wait..._10 seconds_."

"Okay, shoot."

"'Toons...I hate toons. A toon killed my brother.'" Shawn put on his most dramatic, depression-era cop voice, something that probably would have made Henry jealous if he heard it, but Gus knew the reference almost immediately. As much as Shawn's love for quoting random 80s references was obscure, this one was excessively obvious, even for him.

"Are you talking about the incident yesterday, at the apartment complex near City Hall? That was an accident, Shawn. No one could have seen that coming. The harnesses broke, both guys in the incident were killed: the worker on the high rise fell off when the cables holding his ledge broke. He released the rope on the piano when he fell, and the piano...you know the rest." Gus didn't bother finishing the sentence. The image of someone having a piano dropped on them wasn't in the least comforting to his stomach, so he didn't dare voice the words aloud. It was less messy when Wile E. Coyote had the same happen in chasing Road Runner. Then again, that was a cartoon, not real life.

"W-W-Wrong. It wasn't an accident. It was too convenient. Why would the owner of an apartment complex that was on the verge of shutting down and upgrading just happen to walk by his own building and have a piano drop on him? If there's one thing out of everything you learn about crime scenes, it's this: one crime can obscure another-messiness under the mess. Every single witness that afternoon remembered the piano falling on Mr. Dansen; that was intentional and convenient for his killer. I did some investigating at the barbershop nearby; rumor has it that he turned out some kind of deal at a better place in downtown SB and planned to give the old complex an overhaul to turn a huge franchise profit."

"That sounds like motive to off Mr. Dansen, but then that leaves..."

Shawn nodded in agreement. "Exactly, the high rise worker. Not one witness remembered what happened with him, everyone just assumes he fell, but there has to be something big behind it. That's why I need you Gus. To put this case to bed and give a good name to toons everywhere."

Gus let out a large breath of air. "Putting aside the bad references to Who Framed Roger Rabbit- you really went to the barbershop to do some investigative digging, and not just for a haircut?"

"The haircut was just a perk...a nice perk though. I already have two numbers." He pulled two slips of paper from his left pocket...no doubt from potential dates in the future. Gus shook his head and didn't have much to say to that otherwise. It didn't surprise him that Shawn was already getting attention from the newly trimmed look, though it really didn't look much different as the way he normally cut it, it was probably just being in the area where a lot of people gathered. More importantly, he knew that he couldn't pass up Shawn's offer. Whether it was because he couldn't turn Shawn or the case down, or because the case would be on his mind all day if he didn't take it, he didn't know, but he knew that he'd need prepping time to get ready. He fingered the keys to the Psychmobile in his hands.

"Okay, as long as you know where you're going, and that we won't be there too long..."

"Sweet! Let's go Gus!" Shawn snatched the keys from his hand and grinned, leaping from the couch and running towards the door. "I call shotgun!"

Gus sat in shock for a second, then, after placing the laptop on the table, lept up and ran after Shawn. Some things never really change do they, he thought.

"Shawn, Shawn! I'm not driving this time. Do you hear me? _Shawn_!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Little Cat, Big Difference**

_Author's Note: Buzz makes his mark in this chapter, after Lassie gives him a task that may be too much for him to handle...if he didn't have help from a little furry friend. Buzz's such a great character; there were a lot of ideas I had with featuring him in the context of one of the themes, but I decided to start off with him as the main focus in the story early on, to make way for future ones._

_I think if you've seen the episode "Nine Lives" (Season 1 episode 8 or 9, if I recall), you'd do well with this chapter, as there are major references made here and there to the episode, so *spoilers beware*, and you'd probably already know about the Little Boy Cat among a few other aspects surrounding his character._

Buzz McNab was definitely hiding something beneath his jacket while walking into the SBPD that morning, making his way through the station and down into the locker rooms while trying not to attract any undue attention. That something was a little heavy, furry, and wriggling beneath the interior of his large jacket.

He could feel it pressing against his belly, and it didn't help that Buzz was extremely ticklish, even for a man of his height and stature. Particularly in the lower left side of his abdomen. He bit his lip to keep from laughing aloud. Luckily, it was early enough in the morning that no one would be around to notice. In a crowd of people, he definitely would be in trouble.

He didn't really want to bring the Little Boy Cat into the station this morning, but he didn't feel comfortable leaving the feline alone at his apartment for such a long span of time. To top that off, he had dance practice for his wedding that evening, and wouldn't be home until much later. He stuck to referring to the little cat as LBC, who seemed to respond well to the name. Shawn never gave him a straight answer as to what his name was...or even noted that he was not a "he"...technically.

Buzz admitted to himself, after setting LBC down and removing his jacket, that LBC was a good cat overall. He wasn't worried about the cat tearing up his furniture or leaving the apartment a mess, not as much as he wanted to keep watch over LBC to get to know him. Buzz had worked so many hours in the week that he felt the cat was lonely and bored, and considering this was the same cat who had saved his life several months before, he felt he owed it to him...her...whatever. Buzz's brow narrowed in confusion at the thought, but he soon shook it away.

Buzz changed into his uniform, thankful that he didn't change into it until now, as it would have been covered in cat hairs.

"Stay here, LBC, I'm going upstairs for a little while. If the only thing I have to do is paperwork, I'll come down here and check on you inbetween, okay? Be a good kitty."

LBC purred and curled up into a ball by Buzz's locker. Perhaps the cat knew it was still too early in the morning to be up and about, and seemed content at the prospect of sleeping.

Buzz made his way to the hallway of the SBPD when a familiar voice rang in his ear.

"McNab, front and center."

He turned around and greeted the rather tall, serious and..impeccably dressed head-detective.

"Morning Detective Lassiter; how are you this morning?"

"Without coffee. I have a few things for you to do today that a certain psychic detective decided he wouldn't do because it was too early in the morning."

Buzz smiled, noting how Shawn Spencer was definitely not a morning person. Lassiter walked ahead of him and was turned away so that he couldn't see Buzz's expression as they both made their way to Lassiter's desk. "Sure, anything I can do to help."

"There's a group of students from a 2nd grade class coming into the station for a little while this morning. They're going around the Santa Barbara area looking at historic and influential places, and I need someone who can show them what a fine institution the SBPD is and how much of commitment we have for our job. We take it seriously and take no names, and it's best they learn that even at their ages. That's why I'm asking you."

Buzz felt honored. For Detective Lassiter to even call on him as a representative of the department was something, even in his position, that he never expected. As for handing a bunch of 2nd grade kids, though he didn't have any children of his own, he thought he could take up the task.

"Definitely."

"That's what I'd like to hear from a good cop, McNab, they're in the conference room with their teacher. They're only here for a little while. Just teach them the basics." Lassiter handed Buzz a clipboard and a pen from his neatly kept desk. "I want a report written after to see how it went, then you can get back to your paperwork for the case we're working on. I have a meeting with the Chief this morning, so I can't make it to work with the class."

"All right, I'll have it on your desk this afternoon."

Lassiter nodded in response and walked towards the Chief's office.

Well, here goes nothing, Buzz thought as he walked towards the conference room.

There were a total of 12 kids in Mrs. Keely's class, the majority boys and only a few girls who seemed to sit in silence around the conference table. Mrs. Keely, a blond haired woman in her 30s, dressed in a bright yellow sundress, greeted him warmly with a smile.

"Officer McNab, it's such a pleasure to meet you."

Buzz smiled back warmly. She definitely fit the role of a school teacher well, friendly and with a sense of quiet energy. The kids, on the other hand, looked like they were dead tired. It was, in fact, 7:30 in the morning, much earlier, he imagined, than what these kids were used to getting up, even for a field trip.

"Class, say hello to Officer McNab."

A chorus of "Good morning Mr. McNab" echoed from the students, and McNab felt his smile grow wider, and a little bit embarrassed by the formality.

"Morning. It's great to meet all of you. It might be a little early for some of you, but I'm going to show you around the Santa Barbara Police Department and tell you a little bit about what we do before you guys head out to see more on your trip. It'll be a lot fun, trust me."

It seemed like "fun" didn't seem to exist anywhere among the kids' faces about 30 minutes after Buzz had greeted them, and he felt at a loss-most of them looked pretty bored, other than one question from a bratty kid about when Buzz was going to unhoister his gun..and Buzz had to uncomfortably shrug it off and change the subject. Despite all the notes, facts, and everything Lassiter had given him about the SBPD in general, the kids seemed like they were ready to go home. Mrs. Keely didn't seem to mind, she followed McNab and the students through each part of the station, and smiled warmly and engagingly asked questions where the kids did not. It made Buzz feel a little better that she seemed interested, but didn't know what to do for the kids there.

When they reached the locker room, Buzz searched around to see if LBC was lurking around, but couldn't see him out of the corner of his eye. He's probably still by the locker sleeping, he thought.

He clapped his hands together, and the class stood around him in a semi-circle looking around at the locker room. One of the girls shivered slightly, the locker room wasn't much to look at, just a tiny, somewhat draft filled place where most of the men changed and readied for work. Fortunately, Lassiter told everyone that the locker rooms were off limits for the time Buzz was giving the tour, so it was completely empty, save for a few officers who were just exchanging words to the side.

"All right, guys. This is pretty much the locker room, where the officers have their uniforms, shower rooms, and lockers to put their things away. It's not much right now, but we're planning to have a much bigger facility to give more officers room, even a training area where can come down and exercise if they want. We have rooms for both the male and female officers working here, and pretty much this is all of the SBPD, in its glory. Do you guys have any questions? "

None of the kids were stirring much at the comment. One of them had big blue eyes and mop of brown hair that hung in his face, with a frown that made Buzz wonder if he really did such a bad job of walking the kids through the facility. A hand raised in the back, however, a redheaded, tiny girl with glasses who, when Buzz pointed to her, pointed towards the direction behind her.

"Is that a cat sitting near that locker? He's really cute."

The kids curiously peered past Buzz, to where LBC curled in peaceful sleep on the bench near the lockers. He must have jumped up and found a more comfortable spot while he was gone, Buzz noted.

"Yeah...yeah, that's my cat." He smiled, feeling his face flush, not just for the comment about LBC, but also noting the attention from both the kids and other people in the room. The other officers in the corner seemed to take notice of the cat too, and Buzz wondered if this meant he could be in trouble.

"Where did ya get him?" One of the boys, wearing overalls and a white T-shirt, asked.

"He was given to me by a friend of mine, who works in the SBPD. My friend, working with this little guy on a case, actually saved my life from a dangerous bad guy."

Most of the kids seemed to perk up at the thought of a cat being a hero.

"Is he your mascot?" Some of the kids started to giggle, a few seemed to wonder what a mascot was, and the others still seemed like they were breaking their necks in the same place trying to get a look at the cat from where they stood.

"I guess you could say that,; most of the SBPD knows this little guy." Buzz thought for a moment at the eager looks, and decided to relent. "You guys can go pet him if you want, as long as you stay quiet and don't wake him up."

The kids made their way over to the cat and started petting him gently, resulting in purrs, but no other signs of stirring from the cat in the middle of the clustered hands of the children. informed the kids that they only had a little more time and then they would have to get back on the bus to leave.

"What do you guys say to Officer McNab?"

A chorus of thank yous responded, and a few of which followed up with questions about coming back to see LBC and hear the story about how it saved his life. Buzz knew he'd probably have to tell a modified form of the story, but he promised to do so if they came back and visited. He felt happy that even if they didn't really get much out of the whole tour, he at least cheered them up with spending time with his cat. As the students left back into the main hallway, one of McNab's fellow officers approached them.

"I bet those kids were bored the whole time until they met that cat. And it ain't even supposed to be in here."

Buzz could feel his nerves rise in his throat. "Sorry about that, I wanted to tell the Chief..."

The officer waived it off. "I don't think she'd mind. Besides, the story of that cat and your psychic friend saving you was one of the most interesting things we've had happen in a long while in this department. You should be proud, son."

Buzz nodded, and felt a little more at ease as he ruffled the back of the cat's neck with his fingers. "Yeah, I am. And I think he just saved me again."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: I'm not Afraid of the Dark...I'm Afraid of Light**

_Author's Notes: Short reference and spoilers about a restaurant featured in Season 2, episode 6, episode "Meat is Murder...But Murder is Also Murder"._

Lassiter pulled up his sleek red car to a stray parking space on the third level of the parking deck in downtown Santa Barbara. He opened the door, standing out to survey his surroundings. The deck seemed to be empty, old police tape surrounding the area where the recent car thefts, and more pertinently, the last attempt ending in murder, had taken place. The taped area, however, wasn't where Lassiter was headed.

The Santa Barbara sky grew darker by the minute, and he didn't want to be out here more than he had to. To make matters more complicated, he was carrying a little more baggage than he wanted in his car.

Baggage...that didn't seem to want to move out of his car.

"Spencer...I'm not going to tell you twice to get out of my car," he uttered through clenched teeth.

Lassiter bent his head to look back at Shawn Spencer, who didn't seem to budge from his seat in the back of the car. Lassiter wasn't in the mood to let Shawn sit in the front passenger seat, he had a headache that had lasted from morning up until now. He didn't feel like talking much today, much less being on the receiving end unless he had to.

Last night had been a rough one for Lassiter. He had been at Antonio's restaurant with O'Hara and a witness who claimed to have seen a suspicious person...or thing...wandering around the parking deck the evening of the murder, at about 9:00 at night, shortly after the murder had taken place. The victim was found in his car, blunt force taken to his skull. Lassiter had heard from the autopsy that the victim died from internal injuries suffered from the head wound. The witness couldn't give them a clear description of the killer, only that a strange occurrence had happened before the murder: a strange flash of light.

The old man mentioned some crock about the murder being committed by a vengeful spirit. Heh, I won't believe that nonsense, Lassiter recalled.

Yet, that wasn't the first odd thing of the night. Lassiter knew he should have not agreed to go to Antonio's no matter who the witness was, even if it was a free dinner. The restaurant had been at the center of a murder a while back. While the food was not prepared at the restaurant, it had been the setting for a poisoned risotto, causing the death of a community food critic. While Lassiter had not ordered anything close to a risotto, his chicken dinner gave him a severe case of food poisoning. He travelled home only to be sick most of the week and not had a wink of sleep..or much less than he was used to. You wouldn't have been able to tell his illness that morning, save for a pair of bright, yet "uber tired, baggy bottom Irish eyes", something Spencer had pointed out to him that afternoon.

That comment ticked him off, but he resisted the urge to respond, as it would have given more fuel to feed Spencer's fire, and he didn't need the psychic detective riling his nerves. But it didn't take much from Spencer to rile him, as he saw the psychic detective presently snug in the backseat.

Shawn stirred, opening one eye with a sheepish grin on his face.

"Lassie, these seats totally rock. You redid all the furnishings, didn't you? Is this...mink?"

"Spencer..."

"All right, all right, I'm out. Have a chill pill. Think happy thoughts."

Lassiter rolled his eyes as he shut the driver's side door and looked around. The lights around the deck were dimly lit, good on his eyes and head, but in the darkening sky, he knew it would be hard to see if they didn't hurry to look around.

He walked along the edge of the ramp, looking for any clues that remained. He didn't know what was missing, and provided the witness had seen the same light just the previous day, Lassiter felt that something wasn't quite right...something on the deck could have been giving off the strange light the witness may have seen, but what was it, and where did it come from?

"Sweet Mocha Jellybeans." Shawn suddenly said out-loud.

"Spencer, we don't have time for this. Unless you've got something to tell me, cut the crap."

"I had a vision," Lassiter could faintly see Shawn putting his finger to his temple as he knelt down in the middle of the square of police tape. "A vision about the light. No, I'm too young! Don't take me! I can't see the light now! Gus, Gus, where are you?"

"He's not here, you said he went home after his deliveries." Lassiter said tersely, clicking his tongue. _He actually expects me to believe this nonsense he's pulling off. And who says "Sweet Mocha Jellybeans"? Seriously? I know I say sweet justice, but he's totally ripping that one off._

"No, I can't see the light now, ahh." Shawn placed one hand on his chest, dropping to his knees, his forehead touching the ground. As Lassiter was about to march over there and drag him from his place, Shawn sat back up, a concerned look on his face.

"Lassie, the man wasn't murdered in or near the car. Think about it."

"I already know that Spencer, he was hit on the head with some murder weapon...we just need to find it."

"No, that's not it. He was blinded, by a sudden light, then someone must have shoved him, into something. Think about the injury."

Lassiter thought about Shawn's words, at first in disbelief, then with a sudden realization.

"That's right...there was no blood. But his injury didn't break the skin, and this is paved concrete. If his head hit the concrete, that would have been a broken skin injury, and we would have found skin on the pavement."

"How indeed, Lassie, how indeed." Shawn stood up, scratching his chin for a second while looking around him. "The metal bars...over here. I sense the victim's head hit the metal bars here, forehead first, before his body dropped to the ground. But it didn't hit, not fully. The murderer caught him somehow, dragging his body into the car, but it was sloppily done."

"And you know this because..."

"I've seen the light."

Lassiter clinched his teeth again, his head pounding as Shawn was really grating on him. "The only light you're going to be seeing next is the flash of metal from these cuffs if you don't..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. It's too dim in this parking deck to see any flashes."

"But you just said you saw the light..."

"I saw the light, not a light. Big difference my fine, Irish, yet feeling the burn of a hangover, friend."

"Spencer...this headache, I can assure you, is not from a hangover. It's from you, and I'm just one step away from taking you away in that car over there in these cuffs. Are we clear?"

"Clear as the big floodlight over that-a-way." Shawn pointed to the east.

"Where? I don't see any floodlights."

"No, not there, over there. Way, way over there." Shawn continued to point as Lassiter walked beside him, by now the sky was pitch black, and the two of them stood at the ledge peering over the streets below, dim lights surrounding them. Lassiter could barely see in front of him, so he took his steps carefully and peered over the ledge to see a lone flickering streetlamp. It was bright, bright enough to make him blink as he peered down to it, causing his head to hurt a little.

"Spencer, a streetlamp is not going to blind a man to his death."

"You're still looking the wrong way. It's right there, right there." Shawn jumped excitedly in the same place, pointing upward...and to a stray, teetering lantern...which seemed like it was put there. Lassiter could barely make it out in the dark, but the curve of the metal along the lantern, and specifically the angle Shawn pointed out, he could barely make out its shape in the night.

"Where the devil did that come from? I see the edges of it, but it's hard to make out."

"Well, wherever it came from, it was put there intentionally. Motion sensor, Lass, The killer knew his victim would be up here, and wouldn't be able to see it from this angle, but if you walk to the ledge, either by hearing a sound or something, then it'll turn on. I bet if I did something like this..."

"Spencer, don't you dare..."

Shawn shimmied to the side of the ledge, and the light came on, fully in Lassiter's eyes. The headache Lassiter had grew by tenfold and the light flooded his eyes. He squinted, and nearly doubled over to hit the concrete.

"Whoa, look out!" Shawn made a dive in Lassiter's direction, preventing the head detective from falling backward head first, but both tumbled to the ground behind them as the motion-sensor floodlight switched off.

"Spencer, if you don't let go of me right now..." Lassiter shoved off Shawn's hands, which had grabbed him from behind to keep him from hitting the pavement, but to no avail. Shawn lay on the ground, Lassiter couldn't tell if he was whimpering or laughing...or both.

"That hurt, Lassie. Next time don't stand directly in the line of the light. " He said, in somewhat of a mockly injured voice. Lassiter didn't pay much mind as he regained his footing. Shawn sat on the ground, giving Lassiter what seemed like a grin.

"Or did you stand in the light cause you're afraid of the dark?"

Lassiter peered down at him, ignoring Shawn's outstretched hands in a plea to help him up. "I'm not afraid of the dark, Spencer. Now unless you want to be left behind, I suggest you make your way to my car, by yourself. We're going back to the station, and reporting this for the file. No talking, no singing, and no psychic episodes until we get back. Waste of my time."

Lassiter could hear Shawn coming to his feet behind him, but knew one thing.

_I'm definitely not afraid of the dark...but if I see another light right now, or hear any sudden sounds, I'll go crazy._ He thought, gingerly touching his head between forefingers.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: No Matter How Old you Act, You're Still Young**

_Author's Chapter Notes: It's funny how I can make a count of how many characters have been in each of the stories so far. This is only the 5th chapter and the rankings go: Shawn: 3 (mentioned in Chapter 3, but not in the story); Gus: 2; Lassiter: 2; Juliet 1; Buzz: 1; Chief Vick: 1 (mentioned in Chapter 3, but not in the story)._

_So you can say I've had somewhat equal representation (probably will be more as I get into the stories) for most of the characters, but not from all of their perspectives. All except Henry so far, so you can somewhat guess who this chapter's going to center around._

_Brief summary: Shawn comes home to play a bit of a surprise trick on Henry, and the usual father/son exchange...definite, but Shawn doesn't expect to get the upper hand._

Shawn walked into his father's house that Friday afternoon, and didn't have to step far before the scent of both raw and cooked fish filled his senses, coming straight from the kitchen. Shawn approached the kitchen slowly, all the while wrinkling his nose.

_He's cooking fish again? He just cooked fish like...not even two days ago...he's a fish-obsessor! No, that doesn't sound right. Fishophile?...that's disturbing. What was the word Gus used the other day...ichthyophagist? I'm not even going there. I know if I'm having this bad of a time with the smell, Gus really wouldn't be thrilled if he were here; definitely not if Dad's chopping them up_, he thought. He could almost see the look on Gus's face in his mind, a thought that made him pity his best friend, but also brought a smile to his face.

Shawn suddenly had an idea. He hadn't seen Henry for a couple of days, and he hadn't announced he was dropping by...not like he wanted to be there unless he had to. He wanted to ask if he could borrow his dad's tools for helping Gus remodel the Psych office. They found it cheaper to do the work themselves, so they decided to take turns repair the office each evening, and they needed the tools to work out.

He figured if Henry didn't know he was coming, he'd sneak in and give him a bit of surprise. Shawn slipped off his sneakers, walking in his socks, and placed them behind one of shelves in the living room, where his father couldn't detect them even if he walked into the room at that very moment. He slid across the room, and eased to the door where he could see his father out the corner of his eye, tending to the stove. With his keen sense of observation, he noticed a full bottle of vinegar sitting beside an empty bowl on the table.

_No wonder it smells so much, he forgot to put the vinegar in the bowl to help control it; Mom's cooking lessons 101, not that he would know. _Shawn shook his head, kneeling down, and scurrying, like an oversized grown mouse, towards the underside of the kitchen table. His father didn't seem to notice, how that was, Shawn mused, he had no idea.

Shawn reached his hands up, carefully sliding the vinegar bottle and the bowl into his lap without making so much as a sliding sound. No doubt the water boiling and the pan fizzling had not lent Henry to note what was going on behind him. Shawn was careful to shift if he thought Henry was moving to one area of the counter over another.

Shawn poured a good bit of the vinegar into the bowl, and slid the two back on the table in almost the same area. He couldn't nail it exactly, because he was looking over his shoulder to make sure Henry wasn't looking in his direction.

He made his way from the table, crawling over to the solid counter where Henry couldn't see him, and knocked his fist loudly against the counter. Henry turned around at the instant the sound struck him, but not in Shawn's direction; as Shawn suspected he would, Henry turned straight to the table, looking around for anything that might have been out of place. His eyes went straight to the bottle of vinegar and the bowl. _Wait for it...wait for it..._, Shawn thought. If his dad didn't pick up the cue, he knew something would be wrong.

Fortunately, his dad did pick up on it.

"Huh. Don't remember putting the vinegar in the bowl." Henry wrinkled his brow, almost trying to retrace his steps as he was preparing the dinner.

_"Oooga Boooga!"_ Shawn lept up from behind the counter, and nearly caused Henry to knock both the bowl and the bottle of the vinegar to the floor, after bumping into the table at the sudden outburst.

"What the h..._Shawn!_"

"Haha, total success, Dad. You fell for the "vinegar in the bowl" trick. And you missed my mean Tom Cruise in _Risky Business_ impression." Shawn pointed to his feet, emphasizing the fact he was wearing socks.

Henry put his hand on his hip, glaring at Shawn angrily. "When did you get in here?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe 5 minutes, maybe 10, maybe 20. You wouldn't have known either way because you were too busy lusting over the fishes. You didn't even notice me filling the bowl."

Henry seemed to ignore the comment about the fish. "You weren't standing there a minute ago, Shawn."

"I wasn't standing, I was sitting. Actually, I remember that time in 5th grade when Gus and I were in our boot camp phase while watching a string of _M.A.S.H._ episodes and perfected our trench crawl. Good to know it still works."

"You crawled in here?"

"Yes, and stealthily from the living room, to the kitchen table, to the counter, before the big kill."

Henry chuckled sarcastically, turning back to the stove to turn it off. "Funny that a grown-ass man would have to start crawling just to pull a kiddie prank like that."

"Well, this grown-ass man just pulled it off, and might I say, perfectly."

Henry threw up his his hands, then and turned to look Shawn straight in the eye as he placed them, palms firmly down on the counter across from where Shawn leaned against the side. "You know what I don't get? You pull this kind of crap all the time, and think it's funny. You're too old for this, Shawn. Pretty soon you'll have to realize that you can't take the world as your big playground. One of these days that could get you killed."

"No, Dad, you're w-o-n-g."

"Wong, Shawn?"

"Huh? Oh wait...w-_r_-o-n-g. You take things too seriously. And did you ever think that maybe like all the warped tests you put me through as a kid, that I might have been testing you? You failed it this time."

Henry's gaze turned downward, as if deep in thought for a moment. "You know what, kid, you're right."

"Wait, what?" Shawn said, it wasn't like his dad to admit he was right; not so openly, and not so abruptly. There had to be a catch somewhere.

"You're right, Shawn. You seem to want to test all the people you come across. Patience, skills, anything that seems to come in your own immature criteria. And you're right, I did fail it."

"Does this mean I can use your tools?"

Henry's brow wrinkled more. "No, Shawn! That's not the point I'm trying to make."

"So your point is...what?"

"That you can't just come up with some half-baked tests on your own terms! It's immature and you can't use it in the real world."

"Didn't you do the same with me, with the "how many hats" game? I was a kid then, and I thought it was warped...you still test me now! At least I found a good place to use it."

"At a psychic detective agency, not a real one."

"Yeah, dad, but I've solved the last 16 cases without losing a single one, and have my own official office. Let it go. You lost this one, and think about it, someone could have creatively come in and robbed you using that same tactic, so you can't say it's half-baked, Dr. Sore McLosery."

Henry pointed his finger at Shawn. "It's because you use talk like that that people still have to look after you. When are you going to grow up, Shawn?"

"Never, Dad. Not even when I get as old and cranky as you are. Well, minus the cranky, just the old part. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an office to fix up, and I'll take your tools as pay."

Shawn turned on his heels, grabbing his shoes from the living room, while he heard his father calling after him in frustration.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: All Washed up**

_Author's Note: All of the previous One-shots I posted before this chapter were all penned sometime within 2008, but the ones from here on out are new(er). If you haven't noticed the pattern, each of the titles in the chapters mention comparisons (Big/Small, Little/Big, Dark/Light, etc.) The challenge for this particular story was to come up with a story comparing wet/dry._

_Story Premise - Shawn and Gus are running away from a woodsman with a really large ax, only to figure out after a harrowing chase that it was all a big misunderstanding. But not before someone gets all wet in the process._

"Gus, I think he's gaining!" Shawn's feet hit the dirt along the path in the thick forest. He leapt over a branch, running zig-zag through several trees.

"I'm running as fast as I can! Forgive me if I'm not running faster because I don't know where the guy with the axe coming from!"

"You'd think that'd make you want to move faster! Besides, we might've lost him, somehow."

"I would move faster, except I don't want to run into the guy, unlike some people. If you forgot, he's carrying a really big axe, and I don't want him to use me as target practice."

"Preferentially, Gus, I'd rather not talk right now, just keep running, like that fish in Finding Nemo."

"Swimming, Shawn."

Shawn stopped to catch his breath momentarily. "What?"

Gus followed suit. "I said, the line is 'just keep swimming.' Fish don't run."

Shawn took in a large gulp of air. "I know that. Speaking of water, look down there. Let's just say that's not a particularly alluring descent."

Shawn pointed in the direction of a large drop towards a river streaming below them.

"You've gotta be kidding, that's a long way down." Gus eyed the foaming waters. He'd never been fond of heights, and he wasn't appreciating the up close and personal view.

He slugged Shawn on the side of the arm. "Why'd you have to point that out, now I'm dizzy from running and vertigo!"

Shawn winced, looking at Gus with an overly exaggerated expression "What? I warned you. Usually you're the one using the big, fancy words."

"Alluring is not a big word, Shawn."

"You're forgetting the fancy part."

The sound of crunching branches behind them startled them both, as if a gunshot had rang out and spurred a bullet through the trees. Gus and Shawn looked over their shoulders and knew that their nightmare was close to coming true.

A large, burly man who looked like a balding cross between Mr. Clean and the Brawny man (the old one, not the newer one) marched toward them with an axe, calling out to them with shouts of "Hey, you two! Wait just a minute!"

Gus suddenly realized that he wasn't watching a horror movie marathon. Shawn realized the same, and both of them yelled at the same time.

"Gus, we've gotta jump!" Shawn said. "It's the only way to safety!"

"I'm not jumping! That's too high!"

"We don't have anywhere else to go!"

"Shawn, I'm _not_ jumping."

"Okay, buddy, don't blame me for this when I end up saving your life."

Shawn jumped, all while ushering Gus over the edge with him. Gus was pretty sure he screamed like a banshee as they both hit the water below.

They both surfaced around the same time, Shawn's hair clinging to his brow like saran wrap while Gus's good work clothes were soaked to the bone. Not to mention his brand new Tims.

Above them, they heard the sound of laugher from the man carrying the axe.

"Look at you two lookin' like a couple of wet pooches. You'd have thought I was really an axe murderer the way you two were runnin' off like that."

"Wait a minute, so you're not an axe murderer?" Gus asked.

"Nope, just an actor. I came up around this part of California for research and inspiration for my latest movie. Wouldn't have guessed you two were up here, though."

"So why did you run after us with that axe in your hand if you weren't intending to use it?" Shawn asked.

"Well, I was trying to catch up to you two to ask if you'd seen my crew anywhere around. They were supposed to be here an hour ago. As for the axe, this thing ain't even real - it's plastic. Couldn't even cut a tree, much less a babe with it."

Gus cut his eyes over to Shawn.

Shawn held up his hands. "First we're talking about axe murderers and then he's talking about movies and Paul Bunyan. I could really go for some pancakes with honey syrup right now, wouldn't you?"

"Shawn, you made me jump off a cliff for a man carrying a fake axe?"

"Well you did say you wanted to try the Pocahontas jump at least once, right? This is about as close as you can get, so I say the whole ordeal was a win-win."

Gus didn't answer Shawn with anything but throwing a large amount of water over Shawn's way, which soaked him again. Shawn smiled with a sheepish grin before throwing water over Gus's way and declaring a water war.

Above their heads, Gus was sure he could hear the actor laughing hysterically.


End file.
